Never Have They Ever
by Military Mechanic
Summary: It's a drinking game, and nothing more. Just a simple bet between friends - loser buys dinner that evening. It's just a simple drinking game. So why is it that, by the time the rum has begun to lay a haze over Franky's mind, it is turning into so much more?


A/N: so, this isn't exactly a _true_ request. it's just something my sister demanded of me. 'give me homo' she screamed, and so homo is what i gave her.

enjoy, and please let me know what you think! this new lay-out makes it easy to do!

* * *

"The rules are pretty simple." says Zolo, dropping down on the stool beside Franky. He is turned so that he is facing the taller man, one arm resting on his leg, the other on the counter of the bar beside him. "If you've done it, you drink. If you haven't, you don't. First one drunk loses - and being a bit tipsy doesn't count."

Franky nods. "Yeah, yeah. And the winner treats for dinner tomorrow, right? _All of it_?"

Of course. The free pizza is the only reason that Franky's taking part in this. Unlike his friend, he isn't a big drinker. Cola is more to his taste, after all, and drinking himself into a stupor every night just isn't his idea of fun.

Sometimes he wonders if that's what Zolo does every evening, after he closes down the bar. It would make sense, seeing as the green haired man's fridge is almost entirely stocked with beer and a varaity of rum.

"All of it." answers Zolo, and his voice carries a serious note. As it should. If there's one thing in the world that Franky loves unconditionally, it's pizza.

Which means that he isn't going to want to lose this evening.

"Well then! Let's get going!" says Franky, grinning. He snatches up his already filled shot glass, then waits until Zolo does the same. "I've never used a sword."

Zolo smirks, downing his shot and then slapping the glass down on the table to be refilled. It was an expected statement, and one that Franky clearly knows the reasons behind, but the rules of the game are still set.

"I train at the dojo every evening." states Zolo then, after his glass has been filled up by the other male, tilts his head slightly. "I've never kissed Ace."

"Cheap-shot!" shouts Franky, cheeks flaring red. He points an accusing finger at Zolo, ignoring the fact that the handful of other customers are looking at him. "You _know_ it's a cheap-shot!"

Zolo shrugs. "Doesn't matter. I've never done it, so I can use it. Fess up and drink."

"...Fine." grumbles Franky, blue eyes narrowing as he frowns down into his glass. "I was just walkin' outta shop class and, bam! The guy was standing right there, by the door. I figured he was waiting for Luffy or something, 'cause the kid was hanging out in the class that day, and I told him he'd already left. And then he kissed me..."

The last part is said in an irritated mutter, and Zolo can't help but snicker at it. He remembers that day - or rather, he remembers watching Ace run into the school lunch-room, boastfully shouting to Brook that he'd made out with Franky. Only moments later, the older D. Brother was on the floor, tussling with Brook and screeching about his hair being pulled.

"Asshole..." mutters Franky, then he downs his glass and shove it at his drinking-partner to be refilled. "I've never played Romeo in a play."

It's Zolo's turn to scowl now, teeth gnashing together. "That was the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done!"

"I dunno if it was _the stupidist_, but it was pretty dumb of you." Franky agrees, then he ducks as a wadded up napkin is hurled in his direction.

It may not have been that big of deal, were Zolo able to act. But he couldn't. In fact, Franky remembers with a grin, Zolo had barely been able to say the words correctly!

"Damn principle..." snarls Zolo, then he downs his shot and slams the glass onto the top of the bar. "At least I've never worn a dress!"

Silence. Then Franky shrugs - and the motion sends a wave of heat through him, fingers beginning to tingle as he picks up his glass and snorts. "I was a better Juliet than you would've been, Romeo."

Which, Zolo has to agree, is a true statement. "You didn't look like a complete dumbass, at least. Those damn tights were a pain!"

Franky lets out a loud laugh, refilling both of their small glasses. Then, as the sentence begins to really sink in, he raises a brow at the other man.

"You saying I looked good in that dress?" he asks - and then pauses because, thinking about it, there had been an '_at least_' at the end of that sentence and it probably wasn't what the other man meant at all. Damn it. And damn the rum, too.

Zolo, whose eyes are still as clear as when they started the game, smirks. Then, with one hand, he motions towards Franky. "Either drink or talk."

"Fine." Franky grunts, and he frowns down at his drink. His cheeks feel hot and it takes him a moment to think up a good statement. "I've never passed out."

Which, obviously, a man of Zolo's type has. Anyone who spends every night and evening and morning drinking has had to have drank themselves into a stupor before. And, as expected, Zolo snatches up his glass and tilts his head back, downing the amber liqued in a single swallow.

"Once. The first time I drank. Had too many shots of tequila." Zolo says, after he sets his cup back down. "Can't stand the stuff now. Gives me migrains if I drink it."

Franky snickers, because that had been _such_ an easy drink to earn. He grabs the now almost empty bottle of spiced rum, pouring a bit more of the dark liqued into the blue-tinted glass. Then there's silence - and when he looks away from the job, bottle now placed safely on the counter, he finds that his friend is staring at him. Again, with a frown he notes that Zolo looks far from being even slightly tipsy.

"You drink too much, bro." he tells the other male. When he is given no answer, and no prompt from the other man, he frowns slightly. "What's up? Somethin' wrong?"

Again, there's a moment of silence. Then Zolo purses his lips together, a flash of determination in his dark eyes. "I've never gone around in a speedo for an entire summer."

"It was a dare!" Franky shouts, slamming his hand down onto the top of the bar. He blinks, mouth pulling into a frown, and suddenly Zolo is leaning closer to him then he was before. "Hey, what-"

Almost before the larger man realizes what's happening, a well-tanned hand is on his shoulder and Zolo is tugging him into a kiss - and it tastes like rum and gin and other alchohol, but also something completely unique. Rough lips press against his own, blunt nails digging into the bright print of his tee-shirt.

It takes another moment for it all to really sink in. Then, almost without thinking, Franky returns the kiss, adding a second layer of pressure to the kiss. They move against each other for a moment, and then the pressue on his shoulder lightens up as Zolo slides back onto his own barstool, a smirk on his face.

"Whatever the reason, it was damn attractive." says Zolo, then he snatches the bottle from where Franky had set it and takes a swig from it straight.

Franky just stares at him -and then he laughs, because that is _completely_ Zolo.


End file.
